The Problem of the Missing Miss (15 page)

He looked down to find the source of the noise. A scrawny servant girl in a dirty brownish dress covered with a coarse gingham apron hissed at him again.

“She's 'ere!” she whispered, and tossed something at him.

At that moment, Miss Harmon turned the corner. She saw the policeman bending down at the areaway and hastened to see what was happening.

Constable Corrigan straightened up and saluted the lady smartly. “Good afternoon, ma'am.”

“Is there something wrong, Constable?” Miss Harmon asked sweetly, peering over his shoulder.

“Not at all, ma'am. I thought I heard a noise, but it was only a cat,” Corrigan improvised.

“Really?” Miss Harmon's eyes were hard, but her smile was as sweet as ever.

“Sorry to trouble you, ma'am.” Corrigan saluted again, and strode off. Tucked into the palm of the hand that clutched his baton was the gold locket that the slavey had dropped at his feet.

Miss Harmon looked into the areaway again. No one was there. The constable had been polite, there was no sign of anyone else about … a large yellow cat emerged from the nearest dustbin, as if to prove the constable's story.

Miss Harmon took a deep breath. It was going to work, she told herself. She had sent telegrams to certain persons and set certain things in motion. Lord Richard Marbury was going to find out what humiliation really was, just as Julia Harmon had learned so many years before, when he had promised her everything and given her … nothing.

CHAPTER 14

Saturday afternoon, and the rain had held off for nearly three days. Brighton was at the height of its season, and while the shops selling assorted mundane wares in the inner streets might be shut, the stalls where refreshment could be had were doing a booming business. Winkles, chips, and pickles for those whose appetites were whetted by the salt-laden air and the sight of so much femininity on the beach displaying shapely ankles and sunburned arms; ices, boiled sweets, and biscuits for those who were in the mood for something less substantial. Teashops were spaced invitingly along the Esplanade, where a lady could sit without fear of being accosted by some masher, while taverns for the stronger sex were tucked into the odd corners between the grand hotels.

On the pebbled beach, children dashed about, while their distracted mamas and nannies called after them in pleading tones. Young men, whose usual habitat was a dark office or a crowded shop, removed their jackets to display shirts of dazzling whiteness or vivid stripes, while their companions in the working world, those young women who were timidly stepping into otherwise male preserves, watched on admiringly. Brawnier specimens of manhood, farmers and village craftsmen on their holidays, laughed at the pretensions of the rising middle classes, and joked good-naturedly with their friends as they ate their home-baked bread and cheese sandwiches, and filled their eyes with images of the passing scene, to be related to those less fortunate over the next few months at the local pub.

Dr. Doyle led Mr. Dodgson through this throng, away from John Street and back down to the Esplanade, stopping only to buy the
Pall Mall Gazette
at one of the news vendors' stands, much to Mr. Dodgson's disgust. He carried the offensive publication down to the Esplanade, where he found a space on one of the benches and sat down to examine his purchase. Mr. Dodgson sat down with him, but refused to watch him read.

“How can you read that dreadful thing?” he fussed. “Now is no time to indulge in salacious gossip and innuendo. We must find that child!”

“It never hurts to know what the enemy is up to,” Dr. Doyle pronounced. “Look at this! There must have been some of the Fourth Estate present this morning; there's a vivid description of Mrs. Jeffries's triumphal march, including her challenge to Lord Richard Marbury.”

Mr. Dodgson snatched the newspaper from his companion's hand and peered at it intently.

“To the very letter,” he agreed, when he had carefully read the paragraphs. “But not a word about Miss Marbury's abduction. And, may I add, there is no announcement that Lord Richard Marbury is resigning his seat in Parliament.”

“Then Lord Richard has not obeyed the kidnappers,” Dr. Doyle stated.

“Apparently not,” Mr. Dodgson agreed. He trotted back to the news vendor. “Have you the London newspapers?” he demanded.

“Got all of 'em,” the man replied genially, indicating a well-stocked stand behind him. “Name your city and I 'ave your paper. London, Manchester, York, Edinburgh, Liverpool, Dublin.”

“The London newspapers, if you please,” Mr. Dodgson ordered, fumbling for his money. Once supplied, he carried them back to Dr. Doyle and said, “We must examine these for any indication of Lord Richard's intentions.”

“But not here,” Dr. Doyle told him, wrestling with the
Pall Mall Gazette,
which had taken on a life of its own, and was about to fly away into the clear blue sky. “We must get back to Duke Street, Mr. Dodgson, where Touie will be waiting for us at Mrs. Keene's. Then we can decide what to do next.”

Without waiting for the older man to acquiesce to this plan, Dr. Doyle gathered up the newspapers and marched off.

“It would appear,” Mr. Dodgson commented, as they loped through the streets, now encumbered with newspapers. “That the abductors are using the Press as their medium of communication, rather than the post.”

“True,” Dr. Doyle agreed. “And most suggestive. There must be some link between these articles in the
Pall Mall Gazette
and Lord Richard Marbury.”

They had, by now, reached the Queen's Road. There they turned and went up the hill, reserving all breath for the effort, until they saw Touie sunning herself on the front steps, eagerly waiting for her returning hero.

“Hello! Here's Touie!” Dr. Doyle bounded ahead of Mr. Dodgson. “Touie, we've been to London and back! I must tell you about—oh, Mr. Dodgson, I beg your pardon, but I really must speak to my wife,” Dr. Doyle said, with a boyish grin.

“Quite so, quite so,” muttered Mr. Dodgson. “I shall avail myself of your good landlady's parlor once again, and inspect these newspapers.” He coughed shyly, and glanced at the loving couple. “I hope you will forgive my earlier outburst, Dr. Doyle. I grow testy sometimes. I was grateful for your aid when those ruffians attacked me. Fisticuffs were never my sport.”

Dr. Doyle waved the apology away. “I was glad to be there, sir. Never let it be said that a Doyle did not know his duty, and my duty in this case is to see that Miss Marbury is found and her abductors brought to justice.”

While the Doyles had their fond reunion, Mr. Dodgson settled down on the very sofa on which he had been imprisoned the day before. Dr. Doyle recited to his wife the gist of what had occurred in London.

Touie was suitably impressed. “Oh, Arthur!” she cooed. “Think of having coffee and biscuits with Lord Richard Marbury and his wife!”

“And assisting Baxter with his investigations,” Dr. Doyle added. “A good start, Touie. Baxter will call me in for more consultations after this, and I can bring my experience forward the next time there's an opening in Portsmouth.”

Mr. Dodgson had scanned the London newspapers, which he now laid aside in a tidy pile, and he had information to impart. “This is quite interesting,” he commented. “I have carefully read the
Times,
the
Standard,
and the
Globe,
and in none of these do I find any but the briefest of notices of Mrs. Jeffries's excursion into Mayfair this morning. However, the
Pall Mall Gazette
does have a detailed account, embellished with editorial comments. Remarkable. They must have had a man at the scene, in that disgraceful crowd.”

Dr. Doyle frowned. “In that case, the announcement of Lord Richard's abandonment of his Bill should have been placed in the
Pall Mall Gazette
.”

“It will be looked for in the
Pall Mall Gazette
,” Mr. Dodgson corrected him. “But it will not be found. In spite of Mr. Upshaw's efforts, Lord Richard is adamant. He will pursue this Bill until it is resolved, one way or another.”

Touie frowned at her husband. “You really should let the police do their work,” she chided the two men. “I'm sure they know what they are about.”

“They would not listen to us,” Mr. Dodgson said. “They have it in their heads that both the death of that poor old man and the death of that young woman were unconnected to the disappearance of Miss Marbury.”

Dr. Doyle's frown deepened. “The problem is that they have to work slowly,” he said. “After all, they need to be sure of their facts before they can get a warrant to search a house, even one of, um, ill repute.”

“Are there such in Brighton?” Mr. Dodgson asked innocently.

Dr. Doyle glanced at his wife. “Alas, Mr. Dodgson, vice rears its ugly head even in a seaside Eden like Brighton.”

“I saw the most extraordinary procession this morning,” Touie broke in. “A string of girls, quite young, dressed in the height of fashion, led by a woman with the most vivid red hair!”

“Girls?” Mr. Dodgson lifted his head from his newspaper. “Girls, you say?”

“Yes. But there was something strange about them. I could not quite put my finger on it. They were well-mannered, well-dressed girls.”

“Just walking?” Dr. Doyle asked sharply.

“Strolling on the Esplanade,” Touie said. “I had been shopping, Arthur. I got some darling seashells to place in the parlor at our villa, and a set of teacups for Mother, and I could not help but watch this … well, procession, you might say. They marched down Queen's Road, and walked on the Esplanade, from the Chain Pier to the West Pier and back.”

“Could it have been some sort of school for young ladies?” Dr. Doyle asked.

Mr. Dodgson shook his head. “Not in August,” he declared, on firm ground this time. He might not know about illegal establishments, but he knew about schools. “The term ends in June, and no school will start again until mid-September.”

“In that case,” Dr. Doyle said slowly, “we may assume that there is an establishment in Brighton that specializes in very young, um, persons, and that these young persons were, um, advertising themselves.”

Mr. Dodgson paled. “I cannot believe that the borough would tolerate such a … a …”

Dr. Doyle was more cynical. “If the
Pall Mall Gazette
is correct, many of Mrs. Jeffries's favored clients belong to the very stratum of society who spend their holidays in Brighton. It is just possible that she has set up a … a branch office, as it were, here for the season. And if that is so,” he continued, warming to his subject, “it is also possible that Miss Marbury is being kept there.”

“Or if she is not,” Touie put in, “then the people there will surely know where she is.”

Mr. Dodgson digested this information and nodded. “There is only one difficulty,” he said. “You postulate the existence of this, urn, establishment. One cannot go about asking for such a … a place. One does not find its direction from a guidebook. In that case, how does one discover it? In fact, that is the aspect of this business that puzzles me the most. How does one go about discovering such, um, establishments? Assuming, of course, that one is of such a depraved character as to do so when on holiday?”

“According to the
Pall Mall Gazette
,” Dr. Doyle said, “Mrs. Jeffries has agents stationed at the hotels and clubs in London, who act as, er, touts, for her activities. In today's installment,” he picked up the offending journal and thumbed through it, “this reporter claims that her people have penetrated the highest ranks of society, and may even be found in the hallowed halls of Westminster.”

Touie gasped. “I cannot believe—in Parliament? Surely not!” She snatched the paper from her husband's hands, to read for herself.

Mr. Dodgson gently removed the newspaper from her grip. “This is not proper reading for a lady,” he chided her. “Indeed, Dr. Doyle, this whole conversation is most improper.”

Dr. Doyle laughed. “Touie is a doctor's wife, Mr. Dodgson. She's far more conversant with the darker side of life than you might think. She's even gone into some of the worst places, good soul that she is, for charity's sake.” He smiled fondly at his bride, who flushed prettily. Then his voice lowered. “But you are quite right, my dear. The procession you saw must have been the girls spoken of in these articles.”

“Assuming there is such a place, of which there is yet no concrete proof,” Mr. Dodgson said severely.

“I think we may take it as a given that there is,” argued the younger man. “And as for the existence of such poor creatures, in Edinburgh, I had my share of such encounters. You can't avoid it. And the charity wards gave me a sympathy for these women—mere children, some of them—who must earn their scrap of bread in this manner. I do not blame them, sir, for they are often the sole support of their families.”

“The girls I saw looked well-fed, clean, quite healthy,” Touie commented. “Do you know, Arthur, I think they may be considered quite fortunate by their neighbors to work under those conditions, considering what other women must go through,” she added.

Dr. Doyle glanced at Mr. Dodgson. “In that case,” he said, “I may have a plan. We shall have to ask some of the touts on the streets where to go for, um, pleasure.”

“Dr. Doyle! Your wife is present!” Mr. Dodgson was incensed.

Touie smiled sweetly at her husband. “Arthur is quite right,” she said. “It is the most direct approach to the matter. No doubt the police are questioning those same men.”

“Then we shall have to question the little girls,” Dr. Doyle said firmly. “Mr. Dodgson, you get on well with girls. Can you find out which house it is that is a haven for them? I realize it is a great deal to ask.”

Mr. Dodgson sat up very straight. “Those street children are not young,” he said. “They have seen far too much vice in their short lives to be young. But if it will assist us in finding Miss Marbury …”